


Squeeze the Day

by GoldenTruth813



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Biting, Boys Kissing, Coming In Pants, Demisexual Keith (Voltron), Denial of Feelings, Dick Fondling, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Licking, Love Confessions, M/M, Oblivious Keith (Voltron), Panties, Panty Kink, Partially Clothed Sex, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Roommates, Shiro wears cute panties, but also soft, feral horny, handjobs, inexperienced keith, it ruins Keith's life, panty licking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:07:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23668108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/pseuds/GoldenTruth813
Summary: Keith’s brain sort of short circuits at what he’s seeing. He holds them out near Shiro’s other boxer briefs to compare the size and yeah the waist is exactly the same. They’re definitely Shiro’s.Somehow that knowledge makes Keith feel like he shoved his face directly into the oven.Panties. Shiro wears panties.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 163
Kudos: 583





	Squeeze the Day

**Author's Note:**

> I saw a photo of a fit man in tiny lemon panties and the thought of Shiro in them wouldn't leave me. This was supposed to be a few thousand words of nothing but smut but its me so feelings accidentally got involved.
> 
> Thank you to whiskyandwildflowers for the amazing beta job.
> 
> This also now has art thanks to ViviMayu [here](https://twitter.com/VividMayuNsfw/status/1251398077983813636)

Keith grumbles to himself as he eyes the Mount Everest-sized pile of laundry in the corner. He fucking hates laundry day, which is precisely why he skipped it last Friday in favor of splitting a jumbo meat lovers pizza and playing video games with Shiro all afternoon instead. Keith’s willing to skip anything in favor of spending time with Shiro when the opportunity arises.

It's a decision he doesn’t regret, not even when it means he ran out of clean clothes by Wednesday and was forced to wear the same pair of underwear to class for three days straight.

Despite being roommates, between their different school schedules and Shiro’s T.A. workload this semester, Keith doesn’t get to spend half as much time with him as he’d like (truthfully Keith would spend _all_ of his time with Shiro if life permitted, but that's not something Keith usually admits to anyone let alone himself). So no, he doesn’t regret telling Shiro a little white lie about having already done his laundry when Shiro’s Friday afternoon was cancelled in order to spend more time with his favorite person in the world.

He does slightly regret the decision now that he’s looking at the pile of dirty laundry that awaits him though, a pile so massive it's spilling out of the closet and onto the floor. The absolute last thing he wants to do is drag his massive hamper to the laundry room downstairs they share with the other six apartments in their little corner. But he also knows if he waits until tonight or tomorrow it’ll be overrun with all the other tenants who tend to do all their laundry on the weekends. 

“Suck it up, Kogane,” he mutters, stuffing the laundry basket full and then tightening the drawstring on the top so it doesn't fall out as he drags it out of his bedroom and down the narrow hallway. He’s halfway out when he notices the light on in Shiro’s room and stops, dropping his laundry on the floor. He pushes Shiro’s door open intending to turn the light off for him, well aware Shiro won’t be home from his afternoon lecture for at least another two hours and often leaves every fucking light in the apartment on. Keith’s sort of glad Shiro has at least one annoying thing about him so that Keith knows he’s not too perfect to be real. 

It’s only as he’s flipping down the light switch that he notices the laundry basket in Shiro’s room next to his desk—the full laundry basket. Strictly speaking it’s not nearly as full as Keith’s since Shiro is too responsible (and too much of a clean freak) to let himself run out of clean clothes. But it’s full enough that Shiro will stick to his laundry schedule, which means that tomorrow morning Shiro will get up at eight a.m. just to get it done before the weekend laundry room rush begins. 

Except Shiro shouldn’t have to set an alarm just to do his laundry. Shiro’s been working himself to the bone the last few weeks because of one of his senior seminar papers, and Keith knows the professor Shiro’s being doing T.A. Work for this semester has been dumping more than a fair workload onto him. Shiro deserves a lazy Saturday—and if that just so happens to potentially involve a morning spent lounging on the sofa watching Netflix with Keith and eating stacks of Eggo waffles, well, then all the better. 

Keith debates grabbing the laundry, unsure if maybe it’s too personal. He’s never done Shiro’s laundry before, but it’s not really a big deal. It’s just laundry. It’s not like Keith doesn’t already know that Shiro sleeps in ratty oversized sweats, or that his favorite hoodie has a hole in the armpit and barely fits since he’s had it since he was sixteen but refuses to get rid of it.

A guy can do another guy's laundry just to be nice. They’re just bros. Friends. Really, really good friends—have been since Keith answered Shiro’s ad for a roommate on the bulletin board at the campus coffee shop last year. Keith had a string of bad roommate experiences behind him, but being a broke college student didn’t give him the luxury to live alone, so he’d grudgingly called the phone number on the ad expecting the worst. Somehow he ended up with the best. Shiro is, quite literally, the world's best roommate—polite, conscientious and respectful. He doesn’t leave dirty dishes in the sink or his wet towels on the bathroom floor, he cleans up his own messes—and sometimes Keith’s too—and he always cooks too much food and shares it with Keith. 

Keith likes Shiro more than he’s ever liked any of his past roommates. In fact, he likes Shiro more than he’s ever liked anyone, period. From the day they met things between them were just easy. Shiro is witty, smart, stubborn as a fucking mule, and fun. Really fucking fun. The last time Keith had been down in the dumps about failing a big test, Shiro had slammed his quantum physics textbook shut despite having his own exam the next morning and taken Keith’s hand. What had followed was an hour long car ride to the only twenty-four hour diner just across the state line. Shiro proceeded to order one of nearly everything on the menu—including the six scoop hot fudge sundae—then challenged Keith to an eat off.

They talked and ate, and then talked more and ate more. They laughed and ate until Keith was nearly in tears from how full he was, rivaled only by Shiro and his chili fry belly. They sat in that diner talking until the sun came up and only left when the waitress made it clear it was time to get out or she was calling the cops for loitering. In the end, they made it back just in time for Shiro to drop Keith off at their apartment before his own test.

So yeah, Shiro’s a really cool fucking person. Keith’s never had a best friend before. Not for lack of desire but he’s never been good with people, and being an army brat never helped. Which just means Keith doesn’t have much experience in the close friendship department. They do their grocery shopping together, and cook together, and study together, and basically spend all their free time together. So, Keith’s pretty damn sure that’s got to be like best friend level shit.

Oh, and Shiro’s also the sexiest person alive too. Which is really becoming a little distracting. It’s weird, since Keith isn’t normally that into anyone else’s appearance, regardless of gender. 

The day Keith first met Shiro, he knew right away that he was gorgeous, but it didn’t make a difference to Keith. Not in a way that mattered anyway. Shiro being handsome was just a fact, an objective truth that Keith recognized easily. It didn’t mean Keith was attracted to him. 

It wasn’t until he got to really know him and realized that beneath the toothpaste commercial-worthy smile, and his boy-next-door charm mixed with his Captain America-level good looks, there was a heart of gold. Something about realizing that Shiro isn’t a stuck up douchebag like most people who were that good looking, but rather a genuinely good person makes things more complicated. More and more lately, Keith finds himself getting distracted by the way Shiro’s hair falls across his forehead when he hunches over his books to study, or the way he looks in the morning—half dressed and sleepy as he stumbles around the kitchen like a drunk rhinoceros banging into chairs and slamming cupboards before he’s got at least two full cups of coffee in him.

Keith likes Shiro. He likes him so much. He also just so happens to like doing things for him, which is perfectly normal in Keith’s opinion. Sometimes it's little things, like how Keith leaves Shiro’s favorite mug next to the coffee pot when Keith is on dish duty because Shiro is useless at finding things when he’s sleepy, or the way Keith always carries extra pencils in his backpack because Shiro has a habit of giving his away to students who forgot one and then he has none. 

Sometimes they’re a little bigger, like when Keith secretly used all the money his parents sent him for Christmas to buy tickets to the concert Shiro wanted to see, or the time right after Keith had moved in when Shiro’s boyfriend had dumped him and Keith drove four hours straight to pick him up so Shiro wouldn’t have to take the bus home. Then there was the time Keith caught Shiro eyeballing some fancy ass perfume at the mall and Keith went back and bought it, and then pretended his mom sent it to him but he didn’t want it so Shiro wouldn’t feel bad about accepting a gift for no reason. It’s never about the money though. Keith just likes to do things for Shiro. Especially since Shiro is always doing things for him like cooking dinner every day since Keith can’t cook for shit, and doing most of the housework since Keith hates vacuuming, and he always brings Keith home a brownie when he does tutoring sessions at the coffee shop. 

It’s not about money or the things for Keith, just doing them. Or in Shiro's case, knowing Shiro thought of him at all. It makes Keith feel good and makes his chest feel funny, and he thinks he maybe would’ve gotten a best friend sooner if he’d known it was so damn nice.

The more Keith thinks about it, the better the laundry idea seems. In fact, he sort of can’t believe he never thought of it before. Shiro’s so busy it makes sense for Keith to take on one of his chores so that he’s got more free time to study or relax, or to hopefully spend with Keith. He contemplates texting Shiro to double check then decides against it. It’ll be a nice surprise when Shiro gets home and realizes he won’t have to set his alarm the next day.

The prospect of Shiro’s warm, pleased smile directed his way makes up Keith’s mind, and he grabs a hold of the laundry basket and takes it with him, pausing at the hall closet to grab the bottle of laundry soap then heading on his way.

Once downstairs—no easy feat with two jumbo hampers—Keith heads directly to the laundry room by the apartment gym. It’s empty, which Keith is thankful for since he can do all of the laundry at once without anyone else there. 

Keith shoves his hand into his pocket and digs out his handful of quarters, plucking four of them into each machine then measuring out a cap for each load. He’s pretty sure his own basket is too big for one load, but he also doesn’t have enough quarters to do three loads today, so he shoves it all in and hopes for the best before moving onto Shiro's, which is considerably easier. Keith simply tips the laundry basket upside down, dumping it all in at once, then slams the lid shut.

Once both machines are going, Keith hoists himself up onto the machine, pops in his earphones, pulls open his Spotify playlist, and zones out until the machine beneath his ass stops vibrating. After that, it’s another minute or two of digging around in his pocket and counting his spare change for the dryers. It’s only when he’s completely emptied his pockets only to come up with only $1.87 that Keith realizes he doesn’t have enough money to run a full cycle on two different dryers. He does, however, have just enough to run a single cycle on the oversized dryer meant for bedding. 

Keith hadn’t really thought too far ahead about what he was gonna do once the laundry was clean, but folding Shiro’s laundry and putting it away is the only thing that makes sense. Which means it's not really a big deal to dry all their shit together and have to sort it after. 

Keith’s a fucking genius and an excellent friend. Decision now made, he doesn’t hesitate to grab armloads of his semi-wet laundry and shove all of it into the big dryer. Just as he’s popping open the lid on Shiro’s machine, Lance—the annoying guy who lives in the apartment below them—walks in with his own laundry. Eager to not make small talk, Keith grabs fistfuls of Shiro’s laundry as quickly as he can, shoving it into the machine with his own and praying Lance doesn’t try to talk to him. 

He can feel Lance’s eyes on him, eager to start some sort of conversation. If arguing can be called a conversation. Last month he’d spent a good fifteen minutes talking about the reasons his own choice for laundry soap was superior to Keith’s, and Keith had nearly opened the washing machine to try and drown himself. 

The second he’s paid for his dry cycle, Keith pops his earphones in and pulls his hoodie over his head using every possible means at his disposal to non-verbally signal he’s not up for conversation. 

Keith is pretty sure it’s working too, at least until fifteen minutes later when Lance begins to tap on his head. He tries to ignore him but the tapping persists. After two minutes of having his head poked, Keith caves, yanking out his earbuds and glaring at Lance.

“What?” he snaps.

“Oh boy, aren’t you cranky. Are you hangry?”

Keith barely resists throwing his phone at him. “No.”

“Hmm, okay. If you say so,” Lance says. Then to Keith’s horror he drops down onto the floor cross-legged across from Keith. “So I noticed you running on the treadmill the other day in the gym. What were you doing, like four miles per hour?”

A quick glance at the countdown timer on the dryer shows Keith that his laundry has three minutes left. He sighs. He can do this. Just three minutes. How bad could three minutes of conversation with Lance be?

“I don’t really remember. Maybe five miles an hour.”

“Oh, I’ve done that speed before...when I was like five. I run at least eight miles per hour now.”

Keith clenches his jaw. He was wrong. He can’t do this.

“Did you get your score back from the calculus exam with Kolivan yet?”

“Yes,” Keith answers hesitantly, pretty sure he knows where this is going.

“And?” Lance prompts, wiggling his eyebrows.

“And nothing,” Keith finishes. The truth is Shiro helped him study for that exam and he got his highest score ever—a 93, the highest in the class. For some reason he doesn’t want to tell Lance. He’s proud of that score. He worked really fucking hard.

“Oh, dude. That bad? Listen we can’t all be naturally smart like me. Not to brag but I did get an 88 on the test. If you need help studying for the final I could probably be persuaded to help you. I promise my intelligence isn’t as intimidating as it might seem.”

“Not to burst your bubble but there is literally nothing intimidating about you,” Keith retorts.

Lance’s eyes widen comically, but Keith is thankfully spared from having to hear Lance’s response by the beeping on his machine.

“Oh damn, that’s me,” Keith says before Lance can get a word in edgewise. He jumps up off the floor, purposely ignoring Lance’s spluttering as he shoves all the dry laundry into his own hamper, packing it in as quickly he can.

He grumbles to himself all the way back to his apartment, unable to believe how goddamn annoying Lance is. Somehow, Lance got it into his head they were some sort of rivals when they got the same score on a psych exam in freshman year and he hasn’t let it go since.

It’s not until Keith is safely ensconced in his own living room, the front door locked and the television blaring in the background, that he finally relaxes. 

“Right, I guess it’s time to sort,” Keith mutters to himself, dumping the laundry on the couch.

Normally Keith is more of a _get dressed right out of the laundry basket_ kind of guy versus folding, so anything that he finds in the pile that's his he chucks into a clean laundry basket. Shiro’s laundry he folds carefully, well aware that Shiro dislikes wrinkles in his t-shirts and has his closet organized by color. He’s sort of ridiculous about his appearance like that, but it helps keep his anxiety at bay which Keith knows spiked after his accident, so Keith never teases him about it.

Keith zones out as he sorts, equal parts horrified and mesmerized by the documentary he put on Netflix—something about tigers and a woman named Carol. Keith’s only been half paying attention, so he’s pretty sure he’s gonna need to start this from the beginning, preferably with Shiro tomorrow, because he literally can’t tell if it’s real or fake and it’s kind of blowing his mind.

He’s so preoccupied watching the train wreck on the screen that it takes Keith a full thirty seconds to realize that the underwear he’s folding isn’t one of his own pair of value pack Hanes boxers, and isn’t one of the more luxe black boxer briefs he’d already folded for Shiro.

It’s, well—it’s a pair of _panties_.

Keith’s brain sort of short circuits at what he’s seeing. He holds them out near Shiro’s other boxer briefs to compare the size and yeah the waist is exactly the same. They’re definitely Shiro’s.

Somehow that knowledge makes Keith feel like he shoved his face directly into the oven.

Panties. Shiro wears panties.

Not just any panties either, but ones with lemons. There are fucking lemons on them. If pushed, Keith would not call lemons a very sexy fruit. Yet the idea of the little white cotton panties covered in bright yellow lemons with vibrant green leaves makes Keith’s tongue feel too big for his mouth. Because that’s the other thing, they’re tiny. At least compared to the amount of fabric in Shiro’s boxers briefs, and especially considering Shiro’s size. Shiro’s not big but he’s _big_. His waist is crazy small, but then he’s so tall with those thick thighs and a bubble butt, and yeah Keith’s definitely losing his mind.

Lemons. 

Cheerful little lemons covering Shiro’s dick and ass. 

It’s a lot for Keith to handle. Somehow it feels even more obscene than if Keith had found a pair of lace or satin panties stowed away in Shiro’s laundry. These clearly aren’t something intentionally erotic or sexy, which just makes it all the sexier to Keith. Objectively they’re sort of plain, all things considered, just a high cut bit of cotton. The material is surprisingly soft between Keith’s thumb and forefinger and as he turns them around he notices a weird rouching along the seam in the back which he doesn’t understand in the least. 

Keith’s the kind of guy to buy whatever boxers are on sale and wear them until they’re quite literally falling apart. Shiro is the opposite and cares about how he looks. He always has. Not that he’s vain or conceited—he’s surprisingly oblivious about how much people are attracted to him and he doesn’t think his looks make him better than anyone. But all the same, he definitely spends _a lot_ of time in the bathroom doing his hair, and he showers twice a day, and he works out nearly every day, and yeah maybe it’s not that surprising that Shiro’s got one random pair of cutesy underwear.

Or at least that is what Keith tells himself. The notion holds up until Keith finds another pair of dainty cotton panties sticking to the side of Shiro’s varsity sweatshirt from high school. This pair is cut much the same—tiny little things that Keith has a hard time imagining even cover Shiro’s dick and ass. Like the pair with lemons they’re all cotton, but this pair has little bunnies. _Fucking bunnies_. There’s even a tiny pink bow on the front half the size of Keith’s pinky nail. A bow which likely sits smack dab in the middle of Shiro’s treasure trail when he wears them.

Treasure trail. An image of Shiro in the panties sprung to mind—his thick dark treasure trail leading down beneath a little pink bow and a trail of happy little hopping bunnies.

Keith nearly bites a hole in his fucking tongue.

Unable to stop himself, he rips through the remaining mass of clean laundry until he’s located the rest of Shiro’s underwear which includes two more pairs of plain black boxer briefs and four pair of cute little panties. There’s a dark navy pair with little stars and a scalloped edge on the waistband, a pair with smiling cups of steaming coffee, a bright blue pair with a rainbow that starts on the ass and comes around the front ending exactly where Shiro’s dick bulge would be, and even a pair with peaches in it. Keith fucking loves peaches. They’re his favorite fruit, and he’s not sure how he’s ever supposed to eat one again without thinking about Shiro’s ass or dick. 

It’s just panties. Keith is absolutely and positively capable of not making this a big deal. It shouldn’t be a big deal. It doesn’t need to be a big deal.

Yet it is. It really fucking is. Keith’s entire fucking body is on fire and his chest feels funny, and it’s not until he looks down at the pair of peach-covered panties clutched in his grubby hands that he realizes he’s hard. 

Keith groans, dropping his hand to his dick. Except then Shiro’s pretty little peach panties are basically on top of his erection, and Keith nearly hyperventilates because this is not supposed to be happening. He’s not supposed to be getting hard thinking about what type of underwear Shiro wears. It’s none of Keith’s goddamn business. 

Now that the floodgates have opened, Keith can’t stop thinking about it. When does Shiro wear them? Does he sleep in them? Does he wear them to class? Does he wear them beneath his ugly hole-filled sweatpants when they watch Netflix? 

It’s too much information and not enough all at once. There’s only one thing Keith knows for certain—he’s fucked 

Keith is so goddamn fucked. 

***

Eventually Keith recovers from his shock and somehow finds the fortitude to finish sorting the remainder of laundry and folding it—well Shiro’s anyway. Keith even manages to calm himself down enough to take Shiro’s laundry into his room and put it away. 

Granted, this causes its own panic when Keith attempts to put Shiro’s underwear away as quickly as possible so as not to snoop through too many of Shiro’s drawers, and accidentally finds a drawer full of more panties—so many more. There are several ones with days of the week printed across the front precariously close to where Shiro’s dick would be tucked in, a pink pair decorated in strawberries and macarons, a purple pair with squishy little hippos, and even a pair with dancing avocados. Some of them have the same weird rouching up the ass seam that the first lemon pair have, and there is even one plain pink pair with a small cutout in the ass that leads to Keith nearly passing out. 

After recovering from his second shock of the day, Keith completely gives up dealing with his own laundry and simply chucks the basket of unsorted-but-now-clean shit into his room and slams the door. 

Then he does what any normal person would do in his position and jerks off, showers, jerks off in the shower, and then collapses on the sofa to watch more Netflix. 

By the time the deadbolt on the front door is loudly unlocked and the doorknob turns, Keith’s almost forgotten about his life changing discovery. _Almost_.

Of course the second Shiro walks through the door, every single bit of it crashes into him like a tidal wave and it takes all of Keith’s well-honed bravery and bravado not to pull the nearest cushion over his face and never come out.

“Hey, Shiro,” Keith says quickly, desperate to not act any differently than normal. 

Shiro grunts, shoulders dropping as he shrugs off his massive backpack and lets it thud loudly to the floor. He looks exhausted and Keith’s heart clenches. 

“That bad?” Keith asks, rising up onto his elbows. This is fine, it’s just Shiro. He can do this. It doesn’t need to be weird between them. 

Shrio grunts again before kicking off his shoes and setting them on the shoe rack. “Slav is a fucking slave driver. I don’t know why I agreed to T.A. for him again after the horror that was last semester.”

“Because you’re an overachieving pain in the ass who doesn’t know how to say no. And because he’s going to write you a glowing recommendation letter , good enough for you to get into the Masters program you’ve been drooling over.”

“That was a rhetorical question, asshole.”

Keith laughs. Yeah, this is fine. It’s just Shiro. His roommate. His bro. His best friend. Nothing has changed.

“I made some Stouffer's mac and cheese earlier. Want me to heat up the leftovers for you?” Keith asks, already throwing his legs over the side of the sofa because he knows the answer. Shiro never takes the time to eat on Fridays and comes home hungrier than horse. 

“Yes. Yes. Oh my god, I fucking love you,” Shiro groans. 

Keith’s cheeks heat and he nearly falls off the couch. He doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with him. Shiro says that to him all the time and he’s never blushed before. Of course Shiro loves him, they're _friends_. 

“You should, uh...you should shower. You smell like the lab,” Keith lies, desperate to get away from Shiro for five minutes to get a hold of himself. He knows he’s being fucking ridiculous.

“Shit, do I?” Shiro asks, lifting his arm and sniffing himself. He wrinkles his nose and nods. “You’re right.”

“I’m always right,” Keith bluffs. “Go shower, stinky. I’ll heat the mac and cheese.”

“Thanks, Keith. You’re the best,” Shiro tells him, moving towards the bathroom. The last thing Keith sees before Shiro disappears into their shared bathroom is Shiro’s metal fingers gripping his shirt at the back of his neck and yanking it off in one go, exposing the muscled expanse of his back and the small little dimples just above his jeans, which are just this side of too tight. 

Keith has to close his eyes and breathe in deeply through his nose to stop from making a complete and utter ass of himself. He can do this. 

He repeats the mantra to himself as he hears the water turn on and tries not to think about what panties Shiro might be wearing, or taking off, and most especially not what Shiro looks like naked and wet. He repeats it again as he pulls out the mac and cheese from the fridge, peeling back the saran wrap and making sure to scoop off all the extra bits of gooey cheese from the edges that Shiro likes so much before shoving it in the microwave. It's a mantra that he repeats a third time when Shiro comes out of the bathroom with nothing but a goddamn hand towel covering his dick.

“Sorry, forgot a towel,” Shiro laughs when he catches Keith staring open-mouthed. Keith laughs back because it’s easier than screaming. 

Shiro proceeds to sprint down the hallway towards his room, leaving his very round and slightly damp ass on display. Keith’s not sure what he did in a past life to deserve this torture.

“Breathe, Kogane,” he mutters, carrying the mac and cheese to the coffee table. Shiro’s definitely too tired to eat at the real table and—

“ _Keith._ ”

“Yeah?” Keith yells, grabbing the remote and flipping on the Roku to get Netflix loaded.

“Keith have you, uh...have you seen my dirty laundry,” Shiro yells.

Keith’s entire fucking life flashes before his eyes and his face feels hotter than the time he had a fever of 104 when he got pneumonia in high school. Laundry. Panties. Shiro’s bare fucking ass was so distracting Keith completely spaced on the reality that Shiro going into his room meant he’d notice the laundry.

“I did your laundry when I did mine, dude.”

He wants to hit himself in the forehead with the remote. _Dude_. He’s never called Shiro _dude_ before. He’s clearly losing his fucking mind. 

Keith holds his breath waiting for Shiro to say something, anything. Instead there’s silence. The apartment is small enough that Keith can hear Shiro’s dresser drawers open and shut. He’s likely checking to see if Keith put his panties away.

Panties.

Just thinking about it makes Keith want to walk directly into the sun. 

A minute later Shiro quietly inches his way back into the living room. Instead of his normal lounge wear consisting of sweats and nothing else, he’s dressed in, well— _a lot_. He’s got a pair of sweats all right—the ones that hug his body in all the right places and have a hole in the left knee that shows off a couple of cute freckles—but he’s also got on his favorite hoodie with the hood covering his still-damp hair and for some reason he’s tugged off the comforter from his bed and has it wrapped around his shoulders.

“Are you cold?” Keith asks, forgetting to be overwhelmed by his own embarrassment in the face of Shiro’s strange appearance. Shiro’s never cold.

“Sure,” Shiro mumbles, collapsing into the furthest edge of the sofa and tucking his legs in against his chest. He’s too big to fit that way on their shitty sofa (which is why he usually sits with his feet in Keith’s lap). He sort of looks like a giraffe trying to hide, and something in Keith’s chest breaks a little bit at the realization that Shiro looks nervous. 

He’s made Shiro uncomfortable.

Keith wants to fucking die.

All evening Keith’s been preoccupied with his own mess of emotions, torn between painful arousal, then shame and guilt because it wasn’t his place to see the panties in the first place, that he hadn’t stopped to consider how Shiro might feel. Keith’s not stupid enough to pretend he doesn’t know why. Society is fucking stupid with their toxic hyper-masculinity and weird gender binaries. 

If a big strong man built like a brick house likes to wear cute little panties it’s no one else’s fucking business. It shouldn’t be something Shiro ever feels embarrassed about or has to hide. Especially not with Keith.

“I hope you don’t mind that I did your laundry. Just...I had so much already and you were busy. No reason for you to make another trip tomorrow.”

Shiro’s cheeks go pink. “It was, uh, nice. Really thoughtful. Thank you, Keith.”

Keith huffs out a breath. That obviously wasn’t enough. He’s just not sure what to say. Shiro’s the one who is good with words, not Keith.

Silently Keith grabs the bowl of mac and cheese off the coffee table and passes it to Shiro. It’s his favorite. He will feel better if he’s not hungry.

“Thanks,” Shiro says, smiling as he reaches out for the bowl. The smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes though, and he’s still blushing.

“No problem,” Keith mutters. He needs to fix this.

Minutes pass in silence as Shiro eats. His bowl is getting empty, but he’s not getting chatty with Keith the way he usually does. He’s not regaling Keith with all his Slav stories from tonight’s class or poking Keith with his feet and asking why Keith hasn't picked anything to watch yet. He’s not saying anything and Keith hates it. Shiro’s never quiet with him, not like this.

“I really like your panites,” Keith blurts.

Several things happen at once. First, Keith realizes that was probably the worst possible thing to say right now. Not that it’s untrue, because it’s not, but there were certainly better ways to explain the mess of thoughts and feelings swirling inside of him. Second, Shiro’s eyes widen comically large as he chokes on his mac and cheese. Third, and most importantly, instead of doing the smart thing and shutting up before he can make things any worse, Keith continues to speak. 

It’s almost like having an out-of-body experience—like he’s watching his soul leave his body. He’s so goddamn embarrassed, but nothing he feels matters more than making sure Shiro doesn’t think Keith is judging him. Nothing. 

“They’re nice. You know, if you like that kind of thing. Which you obviously do which is cool and, uh...not that I, uh, spent a lot of time looking at them. That would’ve been, um, you know, inappropriate.” Shiro’s still choking and for some fucking reason Keith isn’t shutting up even though he should. He really should. “They were, um, pretty. I bet they look nice on you. Everything looks nice on you.”

“ _Pretty_ ,” Shiro echoes, like he can’t believe what he’s just heard.

Keith sucks in a deep breath, puffing out his cheeks then blowing it out. “Yeah.”

Shiro swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he stares at Keith, his cheeks somehow going ever pinker. Keith’s pretty sure his own must be much the same. 

“Wanna watch Tiger King?” Keith blurts. 

Shiro looks surprised but nods, stretching his legs out across the couch. Without hesitation, Keith reaches out and pulls them into his lap and the tension visibly melts from Shiro’s shoulders. 

“Okay, yeah.”

Keith smiles. This is going to be fine. 

***

Things are not fine. 

Things are not even in the fucking realm of fine. 

Which is not to say that things are bad between him and Shiro, or awkward. To the contrary, they’re the same as always. Sure Shiro blushed a little more those first few days after the laundry incident, but the more Keith acted like everything was the same, the less Shiro looked like an overripe tomato. By the time a few weeks pass, Shiro’s back to using Keith like a couch pillow on Friday nights, back to laughing and joking without hesitation, and back to being as touchy as he always was. 

Things are great, and that is exactly the problem. 

Shiro’s gone back to acting like they’re just two bros hanging out all the time—snapping Keith’s ass with a kitchen towel or challenging him to a hot dog eating contest at one in the morning for no reason. He’s back to waking up early on Sunday mornings to make cinnamon rolls from scratch. Shiro goes back to acting like Keith is his best friend and Keith doesn’t know how to do the same. He can’t go back to pretending that he’s not using any opportunity he can to watch Shiro—that his eyes don’t roam over him every the morning wondering what panties he slept in, or watching him in the kitchen wondering what’s on Shiro’s hips as he sings to his pot of miso soup as he stirs. 

It’s not just Shiro’s ass that Keith has his eyes on either—it’s his everything. Keith’s lived with Shiro for over a year. He knows exactly what he looks like, so it makes no sense why every morning when Shiro gives him a sleepy smile over his massive mug of coffee that it somehow feels like the first time Keith’s seeing him all over again. 

Shiro hugs him and Keith never wants to let go. 

Just about everything Shiro does takes on new meaning. One Saturday night, Shiro lays his head in Keith’s lap while they re-watch season one of Fringe, and Keith finds his fingers drifting into Shiro’s hair. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until Shiro makes a noise not unlike a cat—something close to a contented purr. Keith stills, and though Shiro keeps his eyes firmly on the television despite knowing exactly what Walter is about to do, he nudges his head back into Keith’s palm in a silent but clear plea for more. There’s no air left in Keith’s lungs as he resumes playing with Shiro’s hair, and it's a long time before he can refocus on the television. 

Next week it's a Jackie Chan movie marathon that Shiro puts on. Shiro disappears into the kitchen halfway through and returns with a giant bowl of popcorn and two Cokes. He doesn’t say anything as he sits impossibly close to Keith, doesn’t say anything as he puts the popcorn bowl between them and gives Keith a devastating smile, doesn’t say anything as he pulls out a bag of swedish fish and dumps them onto the popcorn the same way Keith had confessed just a few months prior that his mom used to make it for him when he was little.

Every week it’s something different. A small thing that leaves Keith with no doubt in his mind that Shiro is his favorite fucking person in the whole goddamn world. It’s sort of terrifying because it feels like everything has changed. Except when Keith stops to examine the way he and Shiro are acting, the truth is _nothing_ has changed, and that’s the really fucking confusing part. 

At least until Keith realizes the only thing that’s changed is him. 

The discovery of Shiro’s unremarkable (yet entirely memorable) little cotton panties has opened up the fucking Pandora’s box inside of Keith’s heart and there’s no closing it now. He doesn’t know whether he should laugh or cry at the realization that not only does he definitely want to fuck his best friend, he’s also maybe possibly (okay definitely) completely fucking in love with him. 

It’s a problem. 

A big fucking problem. 

Keith does the only thing he knows how to do when something this substantial and possibly life-altering happens— _nothing_. 

*** 

It rapidly becomes apparent that doing nothing is not going to work.

Keith tries. He really does.

He tries so fucking hard.

When Shiro pulls him in for a hug, Keith wraps his arms around Shiro’s tiny waist as he presses his face into his shoulder and tries not to inhale the comforting scent of Shiro’s apricot body wash. Shiro gives the best fucking hugs and he always smells so good, and Keith maybe lets the hug linger longer than ever.

When the heater in their apartment breaks in mid-November and Keith’s so cold he feels like a fucking popsicle, Shiro finds Keith in the kitchen at 2 a.m. trying to warm himself up over the flame on their stove. He calls Keith a stubborn idiot, then takes Keith’s hand and leads him back to his own room where he pulls Keith against his chest and covers them both in the rainbow afgan his grandma knit him. Keith closes his eyes, warmth seeping into his body for the first time in days as he drifts to sleep to the melodic cadence of Shiro’s steady heartbeat and tries not to read too much into things because Shiro’s just _so_ damn good, of course he wouldn’t let Keith be cold.

When the gym downstairs unexpectedly closes for the weekend and Shiro ends up doing an impromptu workout in the living room in leggings so tight Keith can see the barest hint of a panty line outlining his ass as he stretches, he tries not to to make it weird (he does hide in his room and jerk off so hard his dick hurts though).

Day by day, it becomes readily apparent that Keith is failing. 

Despite his best intentions, his mind has become a place where there’s very little room for his classwork because he spends all his time thinking about Shiro. He thinks about the way Shiro looks when he’s smiling at Keith, Shiro in little panties, Shiro being a sweetheart and making Keith breakfast, Shiro in panties, Shiro helping him study and the cute way he chews on his pencil when he's confused, Shiro in panties, what it might feel like to kiss Shiro, Shiro in panties.

Keith’s basically a walking fucking disaster. There’s a perpetual blush on his cheeks, his wrist aches from all the jerking off, and his heart aches from all the goddamn longing. 

Even though Keith feels close to losing his mind (or having his dick fall off if he jerks off one more time), Keith’s determined not to say anything. It’s not Shiro’s fault that Keith found out his best friend likes panties and went and lost his fucking mind. Keith doesn’t want to risk their friendship or make Shiro uncomfortable. Shiro is too important.

So Keith does the only thing he can do and shoves the feelings down as far as they can go.

At least, until he can’t.

***

It’s been five weeks. Five whole weeks since Keith first held Shiro’s pretty little panties in his hand. Since that fateful day, not a single thing he’s done to try and forget has worked. By the time December rolls around, Keith’s close to losing his mind.

Keith looks at Shiro and imagines what little bit of colorful cotton might be hugging Shiro’s dick and ass that day. Keith takes a shower and imagines Shiro doing the same, imagines Shiro pulling his thick thighs out of the little leg holes of that day’s panties and carelessly tossing them to the ground. Keith gets dressed in the morning and imagines Shiro’s face screwed up in concentration as he digs through his drawer of novelty panties and decides which pair to wear that day. Shiro goes for a run and Keith spends his entire thirty minutes alone biting on his lip hard enough to bleed and touching himself to the image of Shiro’s dick bouncing behind a pair of frolicking little bunnies. Even Shiro just lounging on the sofa in his ratty ass hole-filled sweats ruins Keith as he imagines the juxtaposition of Shiro in something so worn and old but with something so sweet hidden beneath.

Basically, Shiro exists and Keith is fucking ruined.

The more he tries not to think about the panties the more he does. He knows it’s reached a breaking point when he goes to the mall on Friday while Shiro is in class and ends up in a lingerie store. He’s not even sure why he’s there, just to look maybe. Maybe if he can see a pair of panties again he can normalize them and get over it. As he walks around ignoring the frilly lacy things displayed nothing catches his eyes. It’s not until he ends up in the back corner of the store that he finds a little table full of things that look like something Shiro might like—simple little cotton ones in cute prints. There's a pair with watermelon, some with little cats, and even a red pair that’s higher cut in the back with a little bow above the ass that makes Keith’s hands start to sweat.

No, he thinks. No this didn’t fucking help at all.

He leaves the store ten minutes later with half an erection and, for reasons he’s completely unwilling to examine, a single pair of panties in Shiro’s size covered in cupcakes. He refuses the bag and shoves them in his pocket instead, unwilling to risk bringing even more evidence home. 

When he gets back to the apartment Shiro has already started dinner—sushi rolls. He looks so cute standing there with his shirt pushed up to his elbows and his face intense as he rolls the seaweed. Before he can do anything stupid like chuck the panties at Shiro and run away, Keith escapes to his bedroom and shoves the panties between his mattress where no one can ever find them. 

Fucked.

Keith’s beyond fucked and he doesn’t have a clue what he’s going to do. 

***

What Keith’s going to do is apparently lose his mind. 

“Hey, Shiro. Could you come here for a second?” Keith yells from the kitchen, willing his stupid heart to calm the fuck down. 

He can’t believe he’s doing this. He has no excuse for doing this. He’s clearly gone over the deep end, inventing pitiful excuses to ogle Shiro and try and get a peek of panties. 

“Yeah,” Shiro answers without hesitation. There's a pause, the sound of Shiro’s textbook being slammed and then Shiro is meandering into the kitchen. 

Keith’s heartbeat—which had begun to stabilize—goes crazy. 

“What’s up?” Shiro asks with a grin, pausing in the doorway. He lifts his arms, grabbing onto the door jam and leaning forward to stretch—an action which makes his thin white tank top rise up to show the flat of his belly and a hint of dark hair. Dark hair that this very moment could be leading to a pair of cute panties. 

“Keith?”

Keith inhales deeply through his nose. So deeply he nearly passes out. Fuck. 

He’s definitely having second thoughts about this, but he’s already interrupted Shiro’s studying and now Shiro is looking at him with genuine concern. Meanwhile, Keith’s being a horny asshole.

“Are you—“

“The coffee,” Keith interrupts. If he doesn’t get this out now he’ll lose his nerve. “I can’t reach the coffee.”

Shiro’s nose wrinkles up adorably. “You can’t reach the coffee.”

“Yeah. It’s, uh...at the back of the cupboard.”

“How the fuck did it get there?” Shiro wonders, pushing off the door frame and towards Keith. 

“No idea,” Keith lies, having just climbed down from the counters after hiding it there not ten minutes prior. 

Shiro eyes him for a few long seconds, during which Keith becomes sure Shiro’s gonna call bullshit, but he doesn’t. He simply shrugs, sliding past Keith—his body brushing against Keith’s—as he moves into the corner. 

Keith’s not sure who designed their stupid ass kitchen. Maybe a giant. The top cupboards are so high even Shiro can barely reach them. 

“How the hell did it get behind the sugar,” Shiro mutters, raising his arms to move things aside to get to the coffee. 

Keith’s hums noncommittally as he steps back, leaning against the kitchen table to get a good view of Shiro’s posterior. Shiro shifts, pressing his stomach into the counter as he extends his reach to get the coffee Keith _accidentally_ wedged into the corner. 

It remains just out of grasp, and Shiro grumbles to himself as he rises up on his tiptoes to try and get the coffee. He gets the coffee all right, but when he spins around the little hole in the front of his sweats gets caught on the handle of the silverware drawer and it ends up ripping the threadbare material. Rips them right down the front leaving Shiro standing there with his entire crotch exposed. 

Immediately, Keith’s dick hardens and he momentarily wonders if he can pass his rapidly growing dick off as a bro-ner. Of course, the reality is there is nothing friendly about the way Keith feels right now, and he’s pretty sure it’s very un-bro-like of him to want to drop to his knees and nuzzle Shiro’s lemon-covered dick. . 

“Lemons,” Keith squeaks.

He’s never squeaked in his entire fucking life, but he squeaked now. He doesn’t feel in control of his mouth or his dick. 

Shiro is _wearing_ the fucking lemon panties. 

Obscene. It’s fucking obscene

Keith’s not stupid. He knew the panties weren’t just something to look at, that Shiro must actually wear them. But it's one thing for Keith’s dreams to be filled with the idea of Shiro in them, and something else entirely to see it with his own two eyes. Keith held that same pair or little lemon panties in his hands. He knows exactly how the material feels between his fingers. 

He knew just how tiny the material really was, but to see it for himself on Shiro rocks Keith’s entire world. The hole in the front of Shiro’s sweats is like a window to his dick, giving Keith a bird’s-eye view of how low the panties sit on Shiro’s hips, so low that Keith can see a bit of dark curls peeking out over the top of the dainty waistband. It makes Keith feel fucking feral. He’s pretty sure he’s never wanted to lick or bite someone, but the urge in his body right now to drop to his knees and shove his face into Shiro’s dick is overwhelming. He wants to get his mouth on Shiro’s panties, wants to move his lips and tongue over the massive dick print where Shiro’s tucked left. He wants to lick and suck and suck some more until the cotton is saturated with Keith’s saliva or Shiro’s come, he’s not picky. He wants to dig his hands into the breadth of Shiro’s thick thighs and rub his cheek against the panties until Shiro’s dick is so hard the cockhead pops out of the tiny material.

Shiro’s standing there like he doesn’t know what to do, staring at Keith with his big doe eyes. He’s so fucking pretty, Keith wants to scream. 

“ _Keith_ ” Shiro croaks, very clearly aware of the way Keith is staring at his panties.

“Yeah,” Keith breathes, not sure what he’s saying yeah to and unable to avert his gaze anywhere else.. 

Beneath the soft cotton Shiro’s dick hardens, visibly lengthening and stretching the panties. Keith feels fucking insane. He’s been holding onto a thin fucking line the last few weeks, and the goddamn line has snapped. Shiro is getting hard. Hard from Keith looking at him. Later, Keith knows they’re going to need to talk about things like _feelings_ but right now Keith’s pretty sure if he doesn’t get to touch Shiro’s panties or suck his dick, he might lose his fucking mind.

“Keith,” Shiro repeats, a little breathless this time.

There’s no thought in Keith’s brain except sucking. Sucking panties. Sucking dick. Sucking thighs. 

Any normal amount of hesitation Keith might have since he’s never actually done this before fades away in the face of Shiro’s dick, now so hard the tip is poking out of the waistband. The cockhead is flushed pink and glistening with a drip of precome and Keith’s mouth fucking waters.

He drops to his knees, the linoleum floor cold and hard as he shuffles forward.

“Keith,” Shiro says again, this time it's nearly a moan.

“Can I?” Keith asks, tipping his head up to look at Shiro. He doesn’t touch, yet. Not until Shiro gives him permission.

“Can you...fuck. Yes, fuck yes. Of course. Anything you want,” Shiro stutters.

It’s all the permission Keith needs to slip his fingers beneath the elastic of Shiro’s sweats and carefully work them down over Shiro’s hips without removing his panties. Up this close, Keith can see the way the muscles in Shiro’s stomach flutter as the sweats are dragged down, the way his cock twitches a little, and the way he tries so hard to stay still.

Once Keith’s got the sweats around Shiro’s ankles he takes a moment to fully appreciate the view in front of him. If the peek of panties was erotic before, it’s nothing compared to Shiro on display for him in them like this. Shiro is a thing of beauty, all hard muscles and his itty bitty waist, the line of panties hugging his body.

“Pretty,” Keith whispers, tracing his fingers down the sharp V of Shiro’s hips.

Shiro makes a keening sound, biting down hard on his bottom lip as he grips the kitchen counter. His stomach quivers again and the idea that Keith’s the one doing this to Shiro makes his head spin.

“So fucking pretty,” Keith repeats, running to the pads of his fingers across the flat of Shiro’s stomach.

“ _Keith_.”

“Shiro,” he echoes. 

There’s a sharp inhale of breath as Keith opens his mouth and drags his bottom lip over Shiro’s panties and across the length of his hidden dick. Pleased by the response, Keith does it again, this time mouthing along the dick print with both lips, tracing around the curves of the little lemons. Beneath his lips Shiro’s dick twitches and hardens further and Keith is helpless to stop the moan that falls out of his mouth at the sight.

“Keith,” Shiro says, and it might as well be a fucking aprodisiac. 

Keith really didn’t think he could be more aroused, but the sound of his name falling from Shiro’s lips sweet and thick as honey as he pants and whines makes Keith hornier than he’s ever been in his entire fucking life.

There are so many things Keith wants to say. _Later_. Right now all he wants to do is shove his face into Shiro’s panties. So he does, his nose pressed into Shiro’s thick treasure trail and chin smushed against his dick as he inhales Shiro’s musky scent. Shiro’s entire body shudders as Keith rubs his face into Shiro’s thick patch of curls sticking out above the low cut panties and digs his hands into Shiro’s thighs breathing him in. It’s primal and heady, and some of the tension that’s been in Keith the last few weeks seeps away.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Shiro chokes out. He sounds wrecked. 

It emboldens Keith. Over and over Keith does it again, nipping at the panties with his teeth, careful not to actually bite as he moves his mouth across them. 

Keith feels fucking insane, so turned on it’s hard to breathe and his own is dick aching in his pants, but all he can do is touch and lick and suck and watch the way it wrecks Shiro. 

The more Shiro whimpers, the bolder Keith becomes, mouthing along Shiro’s length through the cotton until Shiro’s shaking and his panties wet. When Keith pulls, back his lips are wet, and his breathing is harsh. He turns his face up to Shiro’s, and what he sees makes him nearly come in his fucking pants.

Shiro’s eyes are half-lidded, his mouth open, and his entire chest flushed pink. He’s so hard that now most of his dick is out, and the waistband of the panties is stretched tight over the base of his dick which is openly leaking now. He looks wrecked.

“You’re so pretty,” Keith tells him, his hands digging into Shiro’s flesh low on his hips at the point where his thighs meet his hips. 

Shiro makes a sort of choking noise, shaking his head. “You’re the pretty one.”

Keith’s chest flushes at the idea that Shiro thinks he’s pretty, and he tightens his hold on Shiro’s hips. Shiro gapes at the increase of pressure which gives Keith a pretty clear indication that Shiro enjoys being touched like that, so he moves his fingers inward, his own heart stuttering as he drags them up Shiro’s muscled thigh to the crease where it meets his hip.

Unable to resist, Keith leans forward to slip his fingers into the panties to tug them down, working them over Shiro’s thick thighs and down to pool at his ankles along with Shiro’s sweats before returning his mouth to the same spot. This time instead of pressing his fingers to it he presses his lips, his heart racing when he faintly notice’s Shiro’s racing pulse beneath his lips.

Keith continues the ministrations, sucking and kissing across Shiro’s hip getting closer and closer to his dick until it’s wedged up against his cheek. Unable to ignore it any longer, he pulls back, attempting to catch his breath as he reaches for Shiro’s hands, prying them off the kitchen counter and moving them to his head.

“You can touch me,” Keith manages to get out between deep breaths.

Shiro swallows audibly, nodding as he moves his hands into Keith’s hair. He strokes it back off Keith’s face and it takes all Keith’s self-control not to fucking purr at how nice it feels. Shiro’s hands are big. 

“Fuck, Keith. I like you so fucking much,” Shiro whispers, his metal fingers cool as they stroke tenderly down the curve of Keith’s cheek.

It’s so like Shiro to say something like that right now, and Keith is overcome. It’s hard enough to deal with his overeager dick right now, he can’t even begin to figure out what to do about the way Shiro’s easy affection makes his heart feel too fucking big for his chest. 

“I like you too, you know...obviously,” Keith mumbles, hyper aware that he’s still on his knees with spit dripping down his chin and Shiro’s massive fucking dick bobbing in front of his face.

Now that the haze of blinding arousal has been broken Keith is suddenly reminded that he has no idea what the fuck he’s doing. He’s never sucked someone’s fucking dick before, never done any of this, and insecurity begins to prickle up his spine. 

“You’re doing the thing,” Shiro says, thumb dragging across Keith’s bottom lip.

“What thing?” Keith asks. He feels like maybe it should be awkward to be having some kind of heart to heart while on his knees staring at Shiro’s leaking dick, but somehow it’s not. 

“The thing where you get stuck in your head,” Shiro says, moving his hands beneath Keith’s armpits and trying to tug him into a standing position. 

Keith lets him. He’d let Shiro do anything. It’s a little thrilling, and a lot fucking terrifying.

“I don’t get stuck in my head,” Keith grumbles, still a little unused to having someone else who knows him so deeply. Well, aside from his parents, but he’s absolutely not willing to think about them right now.

“Yeah you do. And it’s cute, unless it’s one of those times where you’re worried you’re not good enough, when the truth is you’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met,” Shiro tells him, sliding a hand into Keith’s head and tipping his head back.

Gut instinct makes Keith almost deny the words, but he doesn’t want to. 

“You think I’m incredible?” Keith breathes.

“Well, yeah,” Shiro huffs out, tightening his fingers in Keith’s hair. “I thought you knew.”

“No,” Keith snorts, as evidenced by him basically losing his fucking mind the last few weeks.

“I kept making moves, trying to touch you and do things for you but you never...you never said anything. I thought maybe you just weren’t interested in sex, or maybe me.”

Keith wants to fucking scream.

“I was trying to be a good friend!”

Shiro’s lips turn up in the corners as he barks out a laugh. “That’s cute.”

Keith’s cheeks heat. “M’not cute.”

“Excuse me, but I beg to differ. You’re very cute,” Shiro murmurs, tipping his head down so that his face is only inches from Keith’s. “So fucking cute.”

“Oh,” Keith exhales.

“So cute, so pretty,” Shiro praises, slowly inching closer. “I’m going to kiss you now so if you don’t want me to—”

“Shiro, I was just sucking on your fucking panties, you can definitely kiss me. You can do anything you fucking want to.”

Shiro huffs out a laugh, nudging Keith’s nose with his own before kissing him. Turns out, Shiro is an excellent kisser. Keith’s not sure why he’s surprised, Shiro is good at everything—gentle as he presses his lips against Keith’s. His mouth is so soft and warm and he tastes like the cherry sucker he’d been eating earlier, and Keith wants to kiss him forever.

“Don’t stop,” Keith mumbles in between kisses, earning him another laugh from Shiro.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he tells Keith, deepening the kiss.

It’s all Keith can do not to whimper. Shiro’s not just a good fucking kisser, he’s excellent. So good it's maybe possibly life ruining, because Keith’s ninety-nine point nine percent sure he’s never going to want to kiss anyone else ever again. Granted, Keith’s personal kissing experience is rather limited, and he’d never really enjoyed it much before. But he thinks now maybe that’s just one more part of his sexuality he hadn’t understood before. He’s tried to date and kiss to get closer to someone, and all it’d done was make him feel apathetic or horrified. It wasn’t until he’d realized he was demisexual that everything had clicked into place. Which means he’d suspected very much that he might enjoy kissing Shiro, but the reality is something else entirely.

Shiro is possibly the best kisser in the entire fucking universe. It’s not until a soft bit of amusement rumbles out of Shiro’s chest that Keith realizes he’s said that bit out loud.

“You’re not half bad yourself, baby.”

Keith nearly moans. And screams. He also nearly comes in his fucking pants untouched. Baby. _Baby_. It’s an assault on Keith’s entire fucking being. How fucking dare Shiro just massacre his heart like this.

Unable to cope with the surge of arousal and emotions one single nickname invokes in him, Keith surges up and slams his lips into Shiro’s. It’s all enthusiasm and no finesse, but it’s alright because if he hadn’t done it then he was at risk of saying something offensively vulnerable like _I fucking love you_ and it really seems too soon for that. Keith’s not sure how panty sucking is appropriate and feelings aren't, but he’s too horny and love-struck to care about his own flawed logic.

There are a million and one thoughts floating through his brain like _I can’t believe I didn’t realize how I feel about you sooner_ or _I like you more than I’ve ever liked anyone_ or maybe _have you seen yourself are you sure you want me?_ or even _I’m scared things might change_. What comes out is none of those.

“If I don’t come I might fucking die.”

A pause, then more laughter. “I’m pretty sure I can help you out with that, baby.”

Keith grits his teeth and breathes through his nostrils. 

“Oh, do you not like the nickname?” Shiro asks, a touch of hesitancy filtering into voice.

Keith shakes his head.

“If you’re sure,” Shiro says, but it's clear he doesn’t completely believe Keith which, well—Keith can’t exactly blame him. 

“It’s embarrassing,” Keith grits out.

The concern transforms into something else, something curious as his thick eyebrows knit together. He’s so unfairly handsome. “You gonna tell me?”

Keith breathes deeply. This is just Shiro. Just the best fucking friend he’s had in his entire fucking life. If he can’t tell him, then who can he tell?

“I like the nickname a lot. A lot.” Then he closes his eyes because he might be brave, but he’s not _that_ brave. “I think I might come if you say it again. Don’t laugh at me.”

Shiro’s inhale is audible but Keith can’t bring himself to open his eyes to gauge his reaction. He suddenly feels like telling your _best-bro-slash-maybe-boyfriend-but-not-officially-your-boyfriend_ (yet) that you might prematurely ejaculate from being called baby is possibly too much.

“Oh,” Shiro whispers, face so close his warm breath ghosts across Keith’s cheek. “What’s wrong with coming?”

“I want to make it last,” Keith huffs, his entire body flushed. At this point he’s not even sure if it's from embarrassment or arousal. 

“I mean, you could come and then,” Shiro pauses, rubbing his stubbled chin against Keith’s jaw so that his lips brush up against the shell of Keith’s ear, “then I can make you come _again_.”

“Nnggh,” Keith grunts, a response likely to go down in history as his most unintelligible ever.

“That’s it,” Shiro coaxes, his big hands skimming down Keith’s side leaving his skin burning. Keith’s about to tell Shiro he has too many clothes on when Shiro’s hand cups his dick—his very hard and neglected and inexperienced fucking dick. 

“Shiro,” Keith gasps, eyes flying open. 

Shiro’s got a smile on his face, something wicked but sweet as he palms Keith through his jeans. It feels so fucking good Keith’s knees go weak.

“Pretty baby,” Shiro murmurs, doing it again.

Keith’s breathing sounds ragged even to his own ears, his heart beating erratically and his bangs sticking to his forehead, because Keith sweats when he’s nervous and it's too much. Too much. 

Shiro. Shiro touching him. His Shiro, palming his dick and calling him baby, and it doesn’t matter that they haven’t talked about this or that Keith thought their first time (if he let himself think of them having one, which he maybe possibly did in secret) would’ve lasted longer, or that he’s still got his stupid fucking boxers and jeans on. All that matters is Shiro squeezing his dick, and before Keith stave off the orgasm he knows is coming, he’s shoving his face into Shiro’s neck and biting back a whimper as he rocks his hips.

Keith groans, sticky and keyed up. Then he slumps against Shiro and becomes very aware that despite all of their activities so far, Shiro has yet to come.

There are a lot of things Keith’s still not sure of, but jerking off isn’t one of them. Keith’s sort of an expert, and though the angle is wrong it’s really not that different to touching himself. 

“Fuck, baby,” Shiro moans, rutting up into Keith’s hand.

Keith changes his mind. It’s different. The sound of Shiro moaning for one. For two, Shiro’s bigger than him, thicker and longer, with his dick curving a little at the end. Keith likes the way it feels even if it takes a few awkward strokes to get his bearings. He settles into it though, rubbing his face into Shiro’s neck.

“Again,” Keith gasps, mouthing across the pulse at Shiro’s neck. “Say it again.”

“ _Baby_.”

Keith physically shudders, embarrassed at the primal sound that rips from his throat. He feels stripped raw and he desperately wants to wreck Shiro the same way he feels wrecked, so he picks up the pace of his strokes, twisting his wrist a little as he nears the cockhead. It works, as Shiro loudly gasps each time. He gasps even louder when Keith lets his thumb swipe over the precome at the tip. 

Keith likes when Shiro leaks, likes when he moans. Such unrestrained proof of how Keith makes him feel is intoxicating and Keith wants more.

“Mine,” Keith grunts, pressing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down the juncture of Shiro's neck and across his muscled shoulder.

“Yeah,” Shiro whimpers, his hips rocking to meet Keith’s strokes. “Yours.”

Somehow it’s not a surprise, but it’s nice to hear the words just the same. It makes something primal surge up in Keith as he bites at Shiro’s shoulders, not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to leave a mark.

The second he sees the teeth marks blossoming on Shiro’s pale skin he panics, worried maybe he should’ve asked first. He doesn’t need to worry long though because before he can ask Shiro if that was okay, Shiro is reaching his letting out a moan filthy enough to fuel Keith’s wet dreams for the next ten years.

It emboldens Keith who returns to his previous ministrations, this time mouthing at the red mark on Shiro’s shoulder as Shiro comes in thick spurts that paint his red t-shirt in stripes of white.

Shiro makes the prettiest sounds Keith’s ever heard as he comes, stroking a hand through Keith’s hair. He’s noisy. Really fucking noisy. He almost reminds Keith of a porn video the way he’s groaning loudly as his dick spurts. Except that Keith has never been a fan of porn, always found it too fake and the sounds more awkward than sexy. The way Shiro sounds when he’s coming though, that could be fucking porn. 

It takes Shiro a minute to come down from his own orgasm, but the second he has, his hands are back in Keith’s hair petting it as he nuzzles into the top of his head. Something funny happens in Keith’s chest and he finds himself nuzzling back.

“I can’t believe it,” Shiro mumbles into his hair.

It takes Keith’s brain a second to catch up, when it does he laughs. “What part?”

Shiro takes a deep breath, his chest filling with air. It’s soothing.

“All of it? But, uh, mostly the, uh...the panties thing. I know I don’t really look the type and maybe it’s a little odd but...I dunno. I just know it’s not really everyone’s thing.”

Keith tips his head back to press a kiss to the sharp curve of Shiro’s jaw. “Everything about you is my thing.”

Shiro tightens the arm around Keith’s waist and pulls him against his chest into a hug. It’s a little sticky and a lot perfect.

“Ditto. To you, I mean. Everything about you is my thing.”

Keith closes his eyes, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “That’s good.”

“And you really like the panties?” Shiro asks, voice pitched quiet enough that Keith can tell he must really be worried. He doesn’t know if it was an ex who made him doubtful, or maybe just something he internalized. Whatever it is, Keith’s determined to make sure Shiro has no doubt about his feelings about him or the panties.

“If I didn’t, would I have gone to the mall and bought you some?”

Shiro’s grip tightens, his body going stiff with obvious surprise. “You bought me panties?”

Keith exhales slowly. No time to be embarrassed now. “I, uh, wasn’t gonna tell you. Or give them to you. I don’t think. Just...after I did your laundry I couldn’t stop thinking about them and it was driving my fucking crazy, and then I kinda went to the mall to get over the idea of you in panties but then I saw this little pair with ruffles on the leg holes and cupcakes and...and yeah,” Keith breaks off, feeling very exposed again. It’s still scary, but a little less so this time than before.

It takes Shiro a few seconds to respond, and when he does his voice cracks. “I wanna see.”

Keith pulls back, daring a glance at Shiro’s face. He’s flushed and his floof is sticking up in several directions and he looks, well—happy. Happy, and maybe a little shy despite what they just did. It’s really fucking sweet.

“You wanna see the little panties I bought for you, big boy?” Keith asks, and Shiro definitely blushes this time. 

“Yes.”

“You wanna...put them on for me?” Keith asks. He’s almost positive what the answer will be but it still makes his heart skip a beat to say the words out loud.

“ _Yes._ ”

Keith’s heart sings. “Good.”

“Good,” Shiro echoes, linking their fingers.

“Just so we’re clear, I really fucking like the panties,” Keith says.

“I’m sensing that, yeah,” Shiro says with a grin.”

“Okay, good. But also, just so we’re clear,” he says, a laugh bubbling out of his chest as he realizes that yeah, he’s happy too. “What I like most is you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream about Sheith with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/goldentruth813)


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